


My reflection of you

by phisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort, Insecurities, M/M, Mirror Sex, Self-Voyeurism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: Yuuri watches. Watches as Victor’s hands move in the full-length mirror, down along his arms. Even though there’s fabric in between them, Victor’s touch burns. Makes him gasp for air. Yes, hot has met cold andㅡ“What do you see?” Victor’s voice is low, repeatedly interrupted by the soft sounds his lips make when they are touching the back of Yuuri’s neck.





	My reflection of you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He is made for watching. The way he carries himself demands attention. The way he speaks makes heads turn. The way he looks, the way skin and muscles overlap to make the most breathtaking canvas, the most illustrious map, the most elaborate mosaic… Yes, he is indeed made for watching, and of that, he is aware.

Yuuri loves to watch him. There's something comforting, something familiar in doing so, standing silently in a created distance. He's done it for years,  _years_ , and now… The unattainable dream, the one that magically came true is his. For he is, he really is his, and he is as real as the the need and want Yuuri's carried within him, for years and  _years_ , but never dared to express. That is still something he struggles with, expressing that yearning, because deep down inside, there's doubt still.

On a bad day, Yuuri doubts. Everything he's ever been told, everything he's ever been shown, everything he's ever felt. On a bad day, Yuuri doubts everything he knows about himself, and the worst part of doubting is that  _Victor_ knows. For as much as Victor is made for watching, he watches too.

Yuuri feels caught, immediately stricken with guilt when Victor speaks. When his voice conquers the air in the bedroom, travels on it to reach him. There's a tone in his voice that Yuuri doesn't do well with. That sometimes ruthless, teasing tone, the one that more often than not acts as a mortifying epilogue to that low chuckle that paves the way. That tone that barely needs words to make him self-conscious.

"Like what you see?"

It amazes Yuuri how easy it is for Victor. How easy it is for him to express himself. To be in the moment, fully aware. To be nothing but intimidating confidence. Victor is everything he's not, a painful reminder how their opposites never possibly can blend or merge. It's a wonder, how they're defying natural laws. Not acting as each other's reflections at all. Because, really,  _why_ is he with him? What does he  _see_ in him?

Yuuri swallows. It's the only response he can, consciously or unconsciously, deliver. Because he does. He likes what he sees, but the fact that Victor knows, the fact that he points it out, makes it difficult. It's one of those days, one of those doubtful, debilitating and discouraging days when thoughts come to him easily. Thoughts that converge at a hub, the core of his innate insecurities. Looking at him, it rings even more true. The doubt. Victor is the only person Yuuri knows that can be so uninhibited, so unaffected, be so awkwardly relaxed standing naked. He is different, so very different from himself. By being who he is, he unknowingly cements their impossibilities. Failing to act as a compliment.

The heat creeps up on Yuuri. He knows that his cheeks are gaining colour, that his throat is drying up, that his blood is starting to simmer. But he can't look away. He's never been able to. Whenever he sees Victor, he's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, seeking the most lovely demise, acting purely on instinct and forgetting reason. It's always a battle, sometimes an impossible crusade. A battle between wanting, wanting everything he knows Victor would give him so easily, and the truth of him not deserving any of it.

Victor always laughs at times like this, when Yuuri is conflicted. He always catches on, and although it happens every time, Yuuri still feels surprised. Embarrassed. Ugly. Seeing Victor like this, laughing, naked in their bedroom doesn't do anything for his confidence or his sense of self-worth. Rather the opposite.

"Love, come." Victor extends his hand, like it is a bridge between them. The only unifying thing in their world full of differences.

Yuuri doesn't hear the loving epithet. It gets filtered away, lost on a highway of diffidence. Instead, he hesitates, standing in the doorway. He doesn't really know what he's afraid of, doesn't really know if he should breach the divide by taking that one step over the threshold. The sheepish question just tumbles out, probably just to bide himself some time. To give him a chance to decide. The question is silly because it's obvious, but he can't make it unsaid. "You've showered?"

Victor has an array of smiles. Some are public, easily delivered and available. Victor never shares them with him. Some are reserved for the ones he knows well, sincere and warm. He shares them with Yuuri too, when they have company. But Victor also has a smile that is new to Yuuri, a smile that he never will get used to. It's a smile meant for him. A smile where creases appear in places otherwise smooth, a smile where Victor's eyes mirrors his mouth completely. A smile that he is lavish with when they're alone.

It's that smile he gives him now. With eyes engaged, teeth showing, a soft huff escaping from the depths of him. "So it seems." After a pause, maybe as long as it takes to take a breath, Victor continues. "So that's where that sweater went."

"Iㅡ"

"Don't mind, it's yours now. Yuuri, come here."

Victor still has his hand outreached, still waiting for Yuuri to join him. And for the second time, Yuuri poses another stupid question, one he already knows the answer to. "Aren't you going to put something on?"

Victor's eyes widens in amusement, like his eyes are blown up by the heartbeat, the heartbeat the moment lasts before he counters. Again, in that teasing tone. The one that challenges him in so many ways, no matter the value of the words. "Do you want me to?"

Yuuri doesn't answer Victor's question. Not out loud, not in spoken words. Inside, barely skin deep, he answers. The rush of blood, the ever spreading heat does the talking.

He doesn't want Victor to cover himself. He wants him to know that he wants him to be just like that, that perfect for as long as he's allowed to but inside, the battle still rages on between being worth something and denying oneself everything. But he takes the one step, hesitantly entering the bedroom. He takes another step, swallowing hard. He takes another, feeling a tremble, rippling through him. He takes another, feeling a cool hand squeeze his.

Watching Victor is safe. Standing close to him is not. When Victor is close, Yuuri gets lost. Lost in him, lost in his own insecurities. This time, damp hair, droplets of water on skin and goosebumps lead him astray but not on a road worth venturing. The voice inside faults him, tells him that he's not worth it. That he's not worth what has chosen him.

He doesn't know where to look, what to do. If he should breathe or not, say something or not. A whisper inside him tells him to stop, immediately cease his stupidities but it's so weak, so faint. It gets lost in the cacophony where no, don't, never and why acts as judges and executioners. So, he just looks at a naked chest and its many small irregularities that makes it so real, so desirable. But he does nothing, except looking.

Hands on his shoulders make him flinch and it feels like falling, tumbling down into a vast nothingness where he'll miss too much. He raises his gaze, anxiously seeking something to hold on to, but blue eyes catches him. Makes him stay. It's painful being caught for those blue eyes aren't smiling anymore, they are governed by something else.

Yuuri understands. Yuuri understands that Victor  _finally_ understands. He's seen it too. Their differences. How two opposites never can match and make a whole. How a living legend never should give a dime of a dozen-something the time of day. It has taken Victor some time to realise this, but Yuuri's been prepared for longer. He's gone through infinite scenarios, all just as desperate and heart wrenching as this, all ending the exact same way.

Even though Yuuri's prepared he doesn't want to be, but he promised himself that he would never hold Victor back. Victor is a  _bora_ , the eastern gust that cannot be tamed and is made to run, created when high and hot meets low and cold only to break free. And that is what is happening now. High has met low and it's time. He understands he wants to go. Maybe, he even needs to.

"Come, stand here."

Yuuri holds his breath when Victor's hands guide him. He closes his eyes, feeling the sting of salty tears underneath his eyelids. But he is pliant, he follows Victor's lead because that is what he has promised himself to do. Seeing how easy he bids him farewell, settling with nothing more than a caress from a wind on the run, will surely make Victor proud.

"Look, Yuuri."

Yuuri doesn't understand, but he feels Victor's breath caress the nape of his neck. The final goodbye from the Russian gale, ready to set off, makes him desperate. He wants to try, he wants to do more for Victor, but that really is what the essence of Yuuri's insecurities. The final conundrum he's never been able to solve. How to do more for someone that is everything?

Slowly, he opens his eyes and stares right back into a pair of brown. Bewildered, he seeks for what he is comfortable with and finds them. The pair of blue are looking right back at him, and now, they are smiling.

"Don't look at  _me_ , love. Look at  _you_."

Yuuri watches. Watches as Victor's hands move in the full-length mirror, down along his arms. Even though there's fabric in between them, Victor's touch burns. Makes him gasp for air. Yes, hot has met cold andㅡ

"What do you see?" Victor's voice is low, repeatedly interrupted by the soft sounds his lips make when they are touching the back of Yuuri's neck.

Victor's face can't be seen, it's obscured but Yuuri thinks he sees a speck of blue behind him as he desperately tries to make eye contact. He feels insecure, even more so than before, as his mind tries to rally. He wants to give Victor the right answer, he deserves that.

"I-I… I see you and me?"

"Mhm…" Victor croons. "What else?"

"I… I don't know."

"I see," Victor begins, his breath hot against Yuuri's cheek. "Up. Up, love."

Yuuri feels Victor's arms around him before he sees them. He doesn't want to see, not himself, but Victor nudges his head with his own, forces him gently to look straight ahead. When he sees Victor grab the hem of the sweater, his heart stops.

"N-no, Victor. I… I don'tㅡ"

"Oh, but  _I_  do. Lift your arms." Victor is quick to correct himself as he bares Yuuri's stomach underneath the sweater. "Please."

If Yuuri felt his cheeks being hot before, they are smoldering now, acting as an opposite to his exposed stomach. It's not desire that makes them flare, makes them feel unbearable. It's the idea of sharing the view with Victor, seeing Victor look at  _him_ , that makes them react. Yuuri knows that he is a lot of things, but he's nothing like Victor. He isn't uninhibited, he isn't confident and he's not… beautiful.

Even though Yuuri feels mortified, he apprehensively obliges to Victor's demand without a word and raises his arms above his head. Infinite thoughts run through Yuuri's head, overpowering and smothering, as he feels the sweater travel up, up along his body. He doesn't want this, he realises. He doesn't want to be forced to look at himself, not with Victor standing close, breathing on him, assessing his reactions. But he's torn, he wants to give. Give, give and give so Victor has something to remember him by. Now that he's supposed toㅡ

"Oh. Yuuri…"

He feels Victor catch his glasses before they tumble to the floor, caught in the neckline of Victor's, no,  _his_  sweater. He pulls out his hands through the sleeves, and is offered his glasses. Victor's hands aren't cool to the touch anymore.

"You'll need these," Victor says as the glasses change hands, leaning into him.

The sensation of Victor's bare chest pressing against his back makes Yuuri confused. He was sure, so sure that he was ready to let him go. That they both were, but now… it seems different. Something is threatening to move him, shake him, although he remains guarded. Yuuri knows that Victor is fickle, whimsical. A whisper in the lives of many. But he's also an enigma, someone who's impossible to figure out. Yuuri still haven't, even though Victor continuously claims that he's the one who knows him best.

He puts his glasses back on, using both hands. Now he sees. Sees Victor's hands caress his stomach, his sides, his chest. Instantly, something happens inside Yuuri. What the thought to be different before now  _feels_ different as he is standing there, enveloped by Victor's chest and hands.

"What do you see," Victor sighs into his neck, his teeth gently scraping the delicate skin.

Yuuri bows his head. He loves the feel of Victor's hands on him, his breath heating him up, those blues eyes never faltering and always meeting him. He  _loves Victor_ , but he doesn't know where his feelings fit in Victor's life. Where he fits in Victor's life.

"Is this love?" Yuuri poses the question quietly, briefly meeting Victor's eyes in the mirror before his eyes finds the floor. It's more uncomplicated to do so. To let them stay on something that isn't him, that isn't Victor.

Victor's hands stop. There's no more feeling around over muscles and ribs, no more exploring every groove and curve, no more scorching hands and soothing fingers against Yuuri's exposed skin. Victor's question has a sharpness to it, when it's finally spoken out loud. "What?"

"I-I just…" Yuuri struggles to find the words, the possible explanations. Words being used for the first time does that to him, to explain his feelings is like describing a colour. It's abstract at best, intangible at times and often impossible. "What I'm trying to, or, no… What I'm asking is, um, do… do you love me?"

Victor doesn't ask for Yuuri's eyes in the mirror. Instead, he demands them in person. Yuuri feels charred by that hand on his chin, the one that tilts and turns, commands and positions, locks him in place. But they see each other this way, blue searching for brown and brown whispering every desperate wish ever thought up throughout their history together, hoping that blue listens. Or sees.

Victor is leaning in, meeting Yuuri's turned face over his shoulder. With lips not touching, but so incredibly close, Victor exhales. "I do."

To Yuuri, the kiss feels like how he's seen Victor have his coffee in the morning. The way he nips at the brew not to burn his mouth, just small touches, just small inhales in an indulgent self-preservation. Until he can take a mouthful.

"Look."

When Victor commands, Yuuri complies. He makes eye contact with himself from the corner of his eye, seeing how Victor does the same. Their eyes are narrow, but their mouths are wide. Hot doesn't meet cold anymore, it's all the same, the exact same excruciating heat when they open up and take each other in. When tongues want to touch, when hands are still.

Yuuri feels conflicted when he sees how Victor is watching him. If he was to acknowledge himself, the self doubts would spill over, take him hostage. If he doesn't, Victor could just as well be standing naked behind someone else, deliver languorous caresses and devouring kisses to a stranger. But Yuuri is conflicted, and he never challenges himself then. So he keeps his eyes on Victor, his reflection and tries to retreat within himself, where he doesn't have to watch to see what is being done to him.

When the kiss ends, it's not because it was meant to happen. But it does, it just does. Yuuri retracts, his head full of images of himself being touched, being kissed. All with a fervor he never could have pictured or imagined. Although he's seen it, the desire, he can't understand it. That is why he asks again, with two fingers pressed against Victor's lips, eyes on him but not on the him in the mirror. "Why?"

He doesn't breathe as he waits for the answer. He just relishes that softness against his fingertips, the softness he's prepared to leave behind.

"Why?" Victor's lips moves underneath Yuuri's touch, a hint of a smile against his trembling fingers. "Funny you should ask. I've always been good at show and tell."

That hand commanding Yuuri's chin forces him to look straight ahead. Yuuri's stomach convulses, almost turns itself inside out when his eyes briefly lingers on his own reflection. He senses something from Victor, from  _within_ Victor, and Yuuri knows that he can't look upon himself in that context. A context so different from his own, how he sees himself.

"Why I love you," Victor hums in his ear, his eyes studying him, undressing him, seeing right through him, "isn't hard to understand. Look here." With a hand still on Yuuri's chin, Victor pushes Yuuri's hair back with the other, holds it in place.

Yuuri feels Victor's hand, hot against his forehead, his stomach expanding and retracting against his back. He anticipates every intrusion, every slow and reappearing push. He welcomes them, fearing Victor's words more than anything else. It's because words come easy to Victor, just as easy as elongated lines and being in constant motion, and just as uninhibited he is with his body, he is with his words. But the words tend to adhere to him where the movements don't, and that is what terrifies Yuuri. He knows what they do when they are left inside him, so frivolously.

"Behind these eyes, there's this amazing person. The only person I've ever  _known_. Someone who, with just a look, can make me do anything. Make me defenseless. I love this someone because not only  _can_ I do anything, I  _want_  to do anything. For him." Victor sighs, a sound that mirrors the warmth, the contentment in what he just said. "He makes, no,  _you_  make me crazy."

Victor releases his chin, his hair. He uses both hands to let his fingers skim over Yuuri's collarbones. "This, my darling, is magical. Your body, the beautiful package to your beautiful being. God, how it feels to touch you here, taste you here…" He exhales, a deep moan riding on the air that escapes out of him.

Yuuri swallows, tries to. The dry warmth of Victor's breath against his cheek, the words that still linger make him parched, make his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He can't help but feel affected by the sound Victor just made, that low and carnal noise that just… promises so much, something he's not prepared for.

"And here. I love to lick you here, bite you here. See how wonderful you look?" Victor's hands are flush against his chest, a thumb almost nonchalantly circles around one of Yuuri's nipples. "The sound you make when my tongue touches this very spot… Oh, Yuuri… You know what that feels like, don't you? What's not to love?"

"Vi-Victor, Iㅡ"

"Now…  _you_ were the one asking, right? Humor me. Listen to my answer. Can you do that for me, my beautiful Yuuri?"

Yuuri averts his eyes, looks to the side instead of at himself. He feels embarrassed, hearing Victor slather on words like that. Feeling his hands on him. Being told to look. It's like the two of them have company, that their intimate exchange is shared by another two sets of eyes. What was meant for them is no longer exclusive, maybe it never was.

"Oh," Victor sighs. Forehead against Yuuri's shoulder, shallow breaths cascading, hands continuously travelling. Feeling every twitch, every groove, every asymmetry. All the external things Yuuri wants to hide, now bared, are being worshipped. "I love you. I really, really do."

Strange, how the words just won't stick.

Victor's hands stop at the waist of Yuuri's jeans. Yuuri's eyes whip back, back to the imperfections. Back to blue eyes veiled by light lashes looking down over his shoulder, wanting to say more, do more. See more. Yuuri tenses up, stops breathing, when Victor's fingers undo the button.

"Okay?"

He's afraid, as he looks down on Victor's waiting hands. They're vibrating. He feels the ticking rush of Victor's pulse against his stomach, wrists resting against him when trembling hands cannot.

With a shiver, one that makes his breath stutter, he puts one arm over his face. He doesn't want to see, but he likes to watch but he doesn't want to be seen. The other hand billows as it touches Victor's, matching their frequency. Yuuri's at a crossroad, at an intersection of choices and he makes one.

"You know, don't you? You know I do? Tell me you know." Victor's voice is thick. It's covering Yuuri's shoulder and chest as it drips and flows, as it's looking for places to seep in. Victor's hands travel downwards now, pushed down by one that isn't his. One that reveals innermost secrets.

Yuuri misses the warmth against his back, longs for it because it was safer. More contained. He peers forth from behind his arm, just enough to see Victor on his heels behind him, legs spread apart on either side of his own. Even though Yuuri only peers, he feels even more. Hands caressing, helping, begging his jeans to slide down and pool at his feet.

Yuuri mewls, shudders to the touch of Victor's hands going down his leg, leaving a molten sensation in their wake. The way his fingers dig into his thigh, brushing against his calf, gripping his ankle…

"W-wait, I don't think Iㅡ"

Victor is sitting now, muscular legs folded underneath himself, a hand around Yuuri's ankle and the other barely touching Yuuri's thigh. Blue eyes meeting his brown from below.

The view in the mirror when Yuuri finally lowers his arm, finally dares to look, sucks the air out of the room. Victor, the man he's always put on a pedestal, the man he's been wanting, the man he's been needing is begging. Begging  _him_ to see him, begging  _him_ to want him, begging him to show  _him_ his love.

It is with a pleading voice Victor speaks. With a voice that awakens Yuuri and makes him realise something new, something that he never thought was possible in their relationship.

"Please.  _Please_ , love!"

Victor needs him too.

So when Victor tugs at Yuuri's ankle, he follows his lead and steps out of his jeans. Allows him to kiss his feet. Taste his ankles. Bite his heels. Yuuri is feeling faint when he understands Victor's need spoken through his lips and tongue, languorously and opulently and freely. Watching Victor as he is partaking in a personal journey, a time of worship, Yuuri realises that he is a tethered storm, one that sets its own goals and its own pace. Also, the storm that is Victor has him in his centre. Where it's calm and still.

When Victor gets to his feet, he is welcomed by impatient hands and a longing mouth. Hands that need to touch, that need to grip and a mouth that wants to be filled. Victor smiles and pays his dues, his heart noticeably strumming the strings to his pulse with an intensity. Yuuri feels it, and he loves. Loves, loves and loves everything Victor can ever give him. He loves him, and now, Yuuri knows that he loves him too.

Against his hip, Yuuri feels Victor's other pulse. The one Victor constantly declares he can't do anything about. The one that is life and love united, flattering and uncontrolled, as whimsical as him. The ultimate proof of an at least carnal appreciation.

Victor groans into Yuuri's mouth when it intensifies, and leaves it a second after. He's winded, clambering on to him with fingers digging into his back, his head on Yuuri's shoulder.

"I want you," Victor whispers, his voice pulsating, matching his corporeal need.

"I know."

"You know?" Victor's hands break the divide between bare and clothed as they glide down Yuuri's back, underneath his underwear. His hands are eager, needy, when they are touching and digging in. Trying to reach.

Yuuri glances to his side. Their reflection becomes them, the way Victor's shoulder cradles and obscures. The way they are close, so close, that it's almost impossible to see where they begin and where they end. That's how they begin their days together, and sometimes how they end them, being fused tighter together with every passing sunrise and sunset.

"Do you know when you're the most beautiful, Yuuri? When I love you the most?"

Yuuri shakes his head, and feels yet another pulse.

"When I have showed you and you have showed me what we are together. When you're spent and high. Just after you've come."

Yuuri's body tenses up as on cue, and Victor braces. Holds him still with hands against the sway of his back, pressing him close. Yuuri wants to tell him to let go, but he fears that he'll be misunderstood.

"Oh-hoh," Victor laughs, that teasing tone apparent, before he sucks a kiss away from Yuuri's lips.

Instantly, Yuuri finds himself right back where he started. Where blazing cheeks, wanting but not deserving and disabling insecurities reign supreme. Because Victor watches. Victor  _knows._

"Can I?"

Yuuri breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. "I don't… want to… I don't want to look."

"Please," Victor implores as his hands trail the waistband of Yuuri's underwear, back to front. As his hands stray, lower.

"V-Victㅡ"

" _Please._ " He kisses him once. Twice. The pair of kisses multiply, become infinite as Victor slowly sinks to his knees, leaving an irregular pattern of dissipating heat on Yuuri's chest and stomach. Victor's hands are on Yuuri's hips now, his face is excruciatingly close.

One glance to the side. Victor's caressing him everywhere he isn't needed. Not where it counts. Fingers slowly finding ways to expose even more.

It's a slow process. When Victor wants something, he takes it. But he takes it slow. Painstakingly slow. Yuuri have thought many times that closeness is a game to Victor, that he likes to make people come undone. But in that moment, seeing Victor on his knees, nipping and kissing, slowly uncovering what he wants, Yuuri understands that he's doing it for himself. He savors it, treats it as the first and last time because he is vulnerable too.

When they dressed as equals, Victor doesn't linger. He takes Yuuri in his mouth. Again and again in slow, torturous mouthfuls.

Yuuri makes a low noise. It's a fusion between a cry, set aflame by passion, and a raspy restraint through gritted teeth. His hands panic, they need to find something steady beforeㅡ

It looks amazing. Amazingly vulgar, so deliciously perverted. The image of them, Yuuri hanging on to a fistful of hair, head thrown back and Victor making him disappear with forceful jerks to the fanfare of colliding flesh, makes Yuuri go light-headed. Weak at the knees.

"N-naah! Vi-Victor! Bed! Bed, I'm goingㅡ"

"Only if you look, love. Otherwise, you stand."

"Aah! Aahnn! I-I prohhㅡ"

"You promise?"

"Yes! Yes!"

Yuuri has never thought about that mirror before. The way it is angled. It doesn't show the entire bed, just the foot of it. That's why he's got his upper body hanging freely from it, to make room for someone else. Someone he knows love him, even more than he loves himself.

He loves to watch him. How he moves, how he carries himself, how he looks. He loves him, how everything is easy to him, how uninhibited he is, how free and fickle he is. How he is spreading his legs apart and makes him move with hands on his hips, rocking him into his mouth. How he smiles when he watches him back, when he feels him raise his hips to meet him.

Victor is Yuuri's one true love and he's taught him many things. That they are meant for each other. That feeling passionate about someone never can be a mistake. That no matter how many bad and doubtful days he battles to get through, Victor remains, steady and calm and ready to love him.

But one thing Victor has taught him, one thing so new and so shattering, is something he'd never imagined himself to ever know. He looks fucking beautiful when he comes.


End file.
